“Help!” came up faintly.
“Mr Manners! where are you? It’s all right. We’re here.”
“Thank Heaven! That you, boys? Ah! I am on a shelf down here—been here for hours—a long way down; and I have sprained something. Can you get help?”
“Well, we are here,” said Will, “and I am coming down.”
“So am I,” said Josh.
“No, no. It is too dangerous,” came up.
“Is it?” said Will. “You lie quiet, Mr Manners. We are coming. There,” he continued to Josh, “take hold of the bracken, and keep your big boots out of my face, can’t you?” For he was already on his way down.
“Same size as yours,” said Josh. “I say, it’s precious deep! Coming, Mr Manners—coming!”
“Be careful,” came faintly.
“Oh, yes; we will be careful,” said Will. “Ah! I say, Josh, look out there. I slipped. It’s sheer down. Oh, now I see. Hallo, Mr Manners! Come on, Josh. ’Tisn’t as dark as I thought. Here we are;” and the boy slipped the rest of the way down, to a fairly wide ledge, on which the artist lay in rather an awkward position.